Artist for Hire

Introduction/Chapter One: Harlequin

.:Artist for Hire*_*Introduction:.

Washington D.C., October 2006

It had been five months since I had picked up a brush to paint anything. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Every time I looked at an easel I was reminded of him and how he thought this was just a pointless hobby. How I needed to focus on what was important.

Like him.

It was hard not to think about him. I knew I shouldn't have been after everything he did to me, but for some reason without him I felt like I had no purpose. I knew that wasn't true, but I couldn't help myself it felt like his self-importance had been beaten into me for so long and I just couldn't let it go. Not yet.

It was the middle of the night...or at least I think it was. I had arrived in Washington D.C. earlier that day. My aunt had picked me up from the airport and told me how happy she was to see me and how happy she was that I was here to live with her and Uncle Luke. I could barely manage the weak smile I had given her and the ride home in the car was painfully silent. After she had shown me the house and where my room was I retreated to her Art Room and closed the door; I blindly picked up paint and bushes and stood at my easel for hours.

Mindless and having no concept of time I painted, my wrists grew tired and my eyes heavy, but I painted on into the early hours of the morning. As the sun began to rise I put the last stroke of red on an eerily familiar looking fairy, I collapsed...

...and cried myself to sleep.

.:Artist for Hire*_*One*_*Harlequin:.

George Washington Academy, Washington D.C., October 2006

I am at a new school. This is the third one this year, does my father not understand what this does to a sixteen year old? New faces, new teachers, new ways to get lost, it's an awful lot to take in at such a tender age. I mean really who wants to be the new kid that hasn't got a clue?

BBBBRRRRRRIIINNNNGGGG

Damn it, I'm late!

It took me another ten minutes to find my English class and when I did every eye turned to look at me. It was the same looks I had been getting for a while now. Kind of like "I know I've seen this girl before! Where have I seen her before?" I tried my best to ignore it, most of the time it didn't work.

I walked as calmly as I could to the teacher, trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore the stares. I realized then that they were beginning to figure out where they had seen my face before. I had made national news after all. Couldn't they at least pretend not to stare?

The teacher stopped his lecture to look at me, "Hello Miss..."

"Maddison," I replied quietly. "Sorry, I'm new. I had no idea where I was going."

He held out his hand and I handed him my schedule, "That's quite alright...Harlequin."

I cringed, "Quinn."

"Very well Quinn. Take a seat next to Miss Chason, Natasha could you raise your hand please?"

I looked around the room and I spotted a Barbie like girl, complete with platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, colorful slathered on make-up, and a pink outfit in the back of the room smacking her gum.

I fought the urge to roll my black rimmed green eyes and slowly approached the empty desk at the back of the class. I took my seat as the teacher, I had yet to get a name, picked up his lecture again. I looked at my schedule quickly so I wouldn't embarrass myself later when I could say "excuse me Mr. insert teacher's name here can you move my seat somewhere else? This chick is wearing way too much perfume!"

"Hi, I'm Natasha." Barbie-Girl whispered.

"Quinn." I said back, taking out my notebook. I looked at the topic on the board, ugh, Lord of the Flies, I had already read that one. I really didn't want to read it again.

"You just start here today?" Natasha asked, "Where you from?"

"I just moved here from California."

Shipped here would be more like it, but best not say that out loud.

"No way! CALI?!" Natasha screeched.

Did I not just say that? And P.S. no one calls California "Cali", nimrod.

"Yeah." Was all I replied.

"Dude that is so awesome! Did you, like, live in Hollywood?!"

Do I look like a dude to you, Blondie? Again I fought the urge to roll my eyes, "Malibu."

"That is way cool!"

I narrowly bit back a groan "Um...thanks." I replied dully. Hopefully she takes the hint and stops talking to me...and I wonder why I don't have friends.

She didn't, "So did you, like, meet any, like, celebrities?"

I sighed, I wasn't going to get out of this, "A few, my dad's a movie director."

I thought she was going to choke on her gum, "NO WAY! Is your dad Tim Maddison?!"

Too obvious Blondie!

Now I was fighting the urge to repeatedly slam my head against the desk as I turned to look at her, "How'd you guess?"

But then of course everyone knew who my dad was, they know my whole family in fact. You see, that's what happens when your entire family is big in Hollywood. My mother is an Academy Award winning actress, my middle sister is a high demand movie producer, my oldest sister is an Academy Award winning screenwriter, and of course my dad is the director...and don't forget he has an Academy Award or two. So basically in Hollywood, when your agent told you Tim Maddison wanted you in his next movie the answer was always a resounding "YES!" no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Because with dear ol' dad usually came Kelly Ann Maddison, producer extraordinaire, Macy Maddison, screenwriter superb, and June Williams-Maddison Academy Award winning actress whom you could go to for advice on anything acting-related. And with a team like that, even the worst actor can't lose. Number one in box office sales opening weekend guaranteed.

Then there's me, Harlequin Marie Maddison, youngest of the bunch, and the black sheep. I couldn't act, can't write, can't produce, and I sure as hell can't direct worth shit. No, no I am an artist, a very good one if I do say so myself. Not that anyone cares, my not being able to do anything movie-related is like a black mark on my family's name. That and the fact that I got pulled out of the last two specialty schools I have attended. Lack of talent and reasons I'd rather not discuss. But instead of enrolling me in a high school in California like normal parents, I got packed up and shipped out to live in D.C. with my mother's sister so they wouldn't have to deal with a damaged daughter.

Now, my Aunt May (don't ask my grandmother was on drugs or something), hated anything Hollywood and California in general. She said it was too hot out there and that we needed some weather. She was an eccentric artist, and black sheep like me.

But I digress.

"I totally knew who you were when I saw your hair." Natasha said, replied matter-of-factly, like she had discovered a secret.

News flash, Dodo, everyone knows me by my red hair and that Sixty Minutes segment. I look like the little frickin' Mermaid. I hate that stupid fish. "Really? Am I that recognizable?"

"Yeah, has anyone ever told you, your hair looks like The Little Mermaid's?"

This time I didn't suppress the eye roll, the groan or the banging of my head against my desk.